


so much to tell you (but most of all, goodbye)

by cmajorchords



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1450516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmajorchords/pseuds/cmajorchords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy takes the gift of immortality, and Annabeth joins the Hunters. Three hundred and fifty years later, they find out that life never really changes much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so much to tell you (but most of all, goodbye)

**Author's Note:**

> title from words -- skylar grey

**so much to tell you (but most of all, goodbye)**

When they meet up again, three hundred and fifty years and enough lifetimes to go crazy between them, it's completely by accident and Annabeth almost shoots him through the heart with the bow that's always constantly in her hand, that's how surprised she is.

But she's still enough herself that seagreeneyesdarkhair still give her pause, and looking back, she supposes that's ultimately what saved his life. That's ironic, because that's what killed her, way back when, when she was young and stupid and still doing the opposite of whatever advice she happened to receive.

She swallows, takes a step back. Her bow is lowered to her side, but it's still loaded with the arrow and she knows it in no way puts him at ease. "Percy."

She'd meant it as a question, but the way it comes out is anything but.

He's nervous. She can see that, even with the twenty feet of forest undergrowth between them. "Um, Annabeth. Hey. Long time no see?"

Still Seaweed Brain, then. _Glad to see immortality hasn't changed him much,_ she thinks bitterly, and gives up and slides the arrow back into the quiver set across her back. "What are you doing here?" she asks brusquely, because she doesn't want to let him see how much he still affects her, even three hundred and fifty years and every day spent trying to forget later.

"I'm on a mission for my father." He hesitates.

"Then get to it."

"Uh, no, you don't understand." He coughs awkwardly, shifting on his feet. His sword, gripped tightly in his right hand, is lightly brushing the forest floor with its tip and she wonders why he doesn't put it away. "He sent me to be an envoy. A ... white flag, I suppose."

Annabeth narrows her eyes, because the one thing she isn't is stupid. She sets her feet, crosses her arms, narrows her storm-grey eyes in a way she knows he knows she knows is intimidating. “What could Poseidon want from the Hunters of Artemis?”

And looking at him is probably the singularly worst idea she’s ever had in her admittedly terribly long life. He still looks exactly the day he’d did the day he turned sixteen, offered the gift of a lifetime by Zeus, the day the war had finally ended and everyone’s demons had finally been put to rest. She’d thought they still had forever, back then. She’d been dreaming about the future, just like the naive thing she’d been, back then. She’d been dreaming of endless summer days and his kisses and how he always smelled like sea salt and that was enough, until Zeus’s offer and his expected, but still otherworldly painful, response.

Nobody turned down the gift of immortality, after all. Not even for someone like her – and it makes her wonder if she had ever been worth anything to him at all.

Right now, he’s a mass of armor and tanned skin and sweat sticking dark hair to his forehead, muscles toned and prominent, and he might just look even better than he’d had in the ruined throne room three hundred and fifty years and an ocean of regrets before.

Percy stares resolutely back down at her, something he’d never done before. He’d done his best not to piss her off before, for fear of repercussions. She supposes it doesn’t really matter, now. “I have an offer from him, as well as information you might find interesting,” he tells her simply. “I need to speak with Thalia.” He hesitates, and then spits out the word as though it’s burned a trail up his throat: “Please.”

She’d always thought he’d broken all his promises, but looking back, it’s really not true. After all, you couldn’t take back words you never said. So she swallows all her anger and gives him the fakest smile she can manage at the moment. “Put your sword away and I’ll take you to camp,” she says, and he caps Riptide and follows.

He jogs to catch up with her, and they’re walking side by side, as they’ve done so many times before, except the electricity between them now is different, charged with something much more dangerous. He’s a god now, she realizes, and the sudden epiphany makes her catch her breath. He’s a god now, he could kill if you if he so wished, he’s not really Percy Jackson anymore.

He still smells like blue and chocolate chip cookies and the sea, so it’s really hard trying to convince herself of this.

He’s still taller than her.

Camp emerges a ten-minute trek through the forest later, in the form of silvery tents set up in a circle with a larger, much grander one in the middle. Hunters are milling around, setting up campfires, chatting, practicing their aim on a few victimized trees; all stop short when she enters the clearing, glaring at the single boy within their midst.

Percy shifts uncomfortably, and Annabeth feels vaguely vindicated. She nods a greeting to her fellow Hunters, who eye her with looks that say plainly, _What the hell_ , because of course they all know her history, the story: the hero of the last war, the teenage boy who’d accomplished so much in so short a time and saved them all, the epic love story in the making – then the twist in the story, so much like a knife being twisted into her heart.

Aphrodite had been positively heartbroken and refused to speak with Zeus for decades, after that _. Years of work,_ she’d screamed in the throne room, after the silence that followed Percy’s reply. _Years of work, completely wasted, you_ utter _moron!_

As far as Annabeth could tell, it was the one and only time anyone, even a god, had called Zeus a moron. It hadn’t really been the poor guy’s fault, and Annabeth didn’t hate him. He’d been gobsmacked after Aphrodite’s explosion and could only watch in stupefaction as she stormed off, before looking around at the rest of the gods, all equally stunned into silence.

No one had know what Aphrodite had meant about years of work going to waste, except maybe Nico, who’d eyed her with more than a little sympathy but apparently decided to wise up and not say anything.

Annabeth clears her throat outside of the silver tent in the middle of the ring, as Percy sticks his hands into his pockets and slouches and does his best to look nonthreatening in the midst of all these glares. “Thalia?”

“Annabeth? Come in, are you back already?”

“Um, Thalia, I think you should come out. I’ve brought along an ... unexpected surprise.”

Thalia’s voice is laughing when she unzips her tent and peers out. “What could –”

Annabeth can pinpoint the exact moment Thalia notices Percy next to Annabeth, because that’s when her eyes narrow into her almost-patented Thalia Grace Death Glare nobody sane would want to be subjected to. In another beat, she’s on her feet standing outside her tent, facing him, one hand reaching for her bow.

“Woah, slow down!” Percy backs up a few paces, hands up. “I’m here on Poseidon’s orders.”

One hand is still on an arrow in her quiver, even as she replies. “Oh, yeah? What is it?”

Percy glances around the rest of their camp, where eavesdropping girls are very clearly eavesdropping and making absolutely no attempt to hide it. He winces. “Could we take this somewhere more ... private?”

Thalia’s expression is stony and unmoving and shows just how much (or little) she’s willing to give. “What you want to say to me, you can say to everybody else.”

Percy closes his eyes, as if trying to calm himself, and when he opens them again he’s focused and driven and sharp, something else entirely. This isn’t the Percy Jackson Annabeth once knew. This is Perseus, Poseidon’s right-hand man, the keeper of the seas, summoner of tidal waves and terrible storms and fearsome predators in the ocean.

“Nemesis is declaring war,” he says, very clearly. “Zeus is too busy defending Olympus, but my father is relatively safe in the ocean so he’s been designated as diplomat.”

Thalia stares at him. “You want us as allies. Against Nemesis.”

Percy winces. “Well, yeah –”

Everybody knows about the war against Nemesis. Apparently the goddess had finally decided enough was enough, gotten a few secret meetings with whatever remained of Kronos’s forces after their humiliation at the Battle of Olympus, and came out strong. They weren’t a real threat, per se, but Nemesis, minor god as she was, is still a force to be reckoned with.

Nemesis had picked a fight with the Big Three and only the Big Three; the other gods had muttered amongst themselves and despite Zeus’s calls for them to join, they had declared neutrality. Artemis had been no different.

“And what does Lady Artemis think of this?”

“She said it was the Hunters’ own decisions,” Percy tells Thalia a little helplessly. “You would be fighting, not Artemis, even if it were under her banner. You get to choose if you want a part of this war or not.”

Thalia continues staring at Percy. “What’s in it for us?”

“Fresh blood,” Percy replies without missing a beat, and Thalia had evidently been prepared to send Percy packing because this answer gives her pause; she literally does a double take, before eyeing Annabeth with a kind of expression Annabeth doesn’t really want to place.

Percy follows Thalia’s sweeping look over their camp, and smirks. “You need new people, don’t you?”

Thalia glares at Percy, but doesn’t say anything, and Annabeth feels her heart sinking. “I’ll need to discuss this with the others,” she says, and Percy steps aside, knowing he’s won already. 

* * *

 

The answer is as expected. The Hunters had gone too long without a fight, and this new promise, of bloodshed and a chance to practice their skills for real, with new Hunters at the end of it dangling as bait, is quickly accepted. Annabeth doesn’t say a thing throughout the whole meeting, even if Percy isn’t present; he’s made himself scarce, somewhere out in the wilds.

Thalia dismisses the meeting, but before Annabeth can get up to leave she grabs hold of her wrist, forcing her back into place. “Annabeth,” she says, eyes dark and unfathomable. “I’m sorry.”

Annabeth plasters on a smile. “It’s been centuries, Thalia. I’m fine.”

Thalia looks like she’s about to say something else, but then catches herself and simply shakes her head, letting Annabeth go. “I’m going to find Percy, now.”

“He’ll have to go soon, won’t he?” Annabeth blurts before her brain-to-mouth filter can properly start working again.

Thalia shrugs. There’s a hint of sympathy in her movements. “If he’s only here as envoy, yes. But I kind of get the feeling that he’s here to stay.”

* * *

 

Percy is indeed here to stay. He takes the Hunters to their new base, some sort of abandoned hotel in Manhattan, where they set up operations. He pops in to see progress occasionally, sometimes in his armor with Riptide at his side, sometimes in jeans and a shirt and a box of doughnuts in hand. At this point in the war there’s really not much to do but sneak around trying to acquire information and alternatively fend off and initiate half-assed strikes against each other.

Percy buys her coffee, black with two sugars, just the way she likes it, every single time he visits. Most days he even sits down and works on battle strategies with her, which is something very new because he’d used to be the act first, think later type. She supposes immortality leaves a lot of time for thinking.

He never attempts to talk to her – not really talk, anyway. He asks questions about how many people did they have, what was the best way to surround this particular place, did she think it would be best to attack head-on or do it in waves. He asks questions about fighting and killing and never once does he bring up three hundred and fifty years ago.

Annabeth isn’t sure if she’s supposed to be grateful or not, and focuses instead on the war efforts to keep her head busy.

Thalia comes up to her one day, when she’s in the middle of drawing up another plan of attack and Percy is off in gods know where. “Annabeth – you do know you have an out, right?”

Annabeth squints up at her oldest friend, wide-awake from coffee fumes and too many ideas running around her brain but sleepy nonetheless, because she hasn’t slept in going on fifty-seven hours now. “An out from what?” she asks sluggishly, brain working too slow.

“From the Hunters,” Thalia replies. “If you plead to the Lady Artemis, and if she’ll grant you this in exchange for all your years of faithful service so far, she’ll let you go live out the rest of your natural lifespan in peace. As a normal half-blood.”

Annabeth’s blood turns to ice in her veins, even as she lowers her head back to stare at maps and too many diagrams. “Why would I want an out from this?” she asks dully, and Thalia only hesitates half a beat before walking away.

After all, it’s not like Percy has an out from immortality.

* * *

 

“Hey.”

Annabeth breathes coffee before she even recognizes the voice, so she’s not even halfway surprised when she looks up to see Percy holding out a takeaway cup like an olive branch. She takes it and drinks greedily, and Percy looks vaguely amused as he slides into the empty seat across the table from her.

“Thanks,” she says reluctantly, but she’s not holding much of a grudge anymore. Time has faded her initial anger into a sort of passive, simmering sense of bitterness. It’s not him, it’s her, and she knows now why that cliché turned into a cliché.

She should never have expected more than what he’d said he’d give.

“Strategy session again?” he asks, tapping his finger along her blueprints, shot through with different colored arrows showing the progression of different units, invading the heart of a building.

“Intelligence came back from Poseidon’s feelers,” Annabeth says carefully.

“Yeah, I know.”

Well, of course he does, he’s Poseidon’s son. Annabeth wants to smack herself, and instead moves on quickly. “This is Nemesis’s hideout.”

Percy squints first at her, and then down at the blueprint. Taking pity on him, Annabeth relinquishes it from her grasp and turns it around so he can see it more clearly.

“Ah,” Percy says. “This is ….”

“The Bronx subway station, yes, I know,” Annabeth interrupts. “You’d think they’d pick a grander place, but it’s really easy to defend.”

“And really hard to penetrate,” Percy mutters, his brow furrowing as his eyes dart around the map. “What’s the plan so far?”

Annabeth throws down the pen, sighing. “No plan.”

Percy’s eyebrows rise so high they disappear beneath his bangs. He stares at her in incredulity. “Annabeth Chase, Wise Girl extraordinaire, has no plan?”

Annabeth wants to punch Percy until the use of her old nickname finally registers. She tries not to let it show that her heart still skips a beat. She launches into a very focused diatribe on how it is impossible to defend themselves once inside, there are no convenient places to stash bombs, it is incredibly hard to employ any successful, tested strategy in such a cramped space –

It feels almost normal, drinking coffee and discussing how to best take down an enemy.

* * *

 

The war kicks up into full gear a couple of weeks after that. The Hunters deploy, and sometimes Annabeth stays back in the hotel as base of operations, as the strategist, the voice in everybody’s ear, and sometimes she grabs her bow and arrows, her knife, her New York Yankees’ cap, and heads out with the others. They slaughter monsters, day after day after day, and sometimes the monsters slaughter them. When the battle takes them too close to Long Island, she sees storm clouds gathering on the horizon, waves hurling monsters into foam, the terrifying partnership of ice and water and sky.

Victory comes easy – Nemesis had never fought to win, after all. She’d fought in the attempt to make Zeus see that not everybody was on his side, because none of the other gods – Ares, Aphrodite, Athena, Artemis, Dionysus, Hermes, Apollo, Hephaestus, Hera – had lifted a single finger to help. She’d fought in the attempt to make Zeus see this, accept this, and perhaps root enough seed in his brain to make him suspicious of the others.

Nemesis would be succeeding, but for now they’ve won the war and that’s enough for them.

They’re in the now-ruined, abandoned subway station, staring at crumbling concrete and the faint whistling of a train approaching in the distance. Annabeth doesn’t know what the Mist would disguise this  as – maybe a freak bombing incident? The Hunters are around them, collecting used arrows to put back into their quivers, giddy over their success.

Sometime during the battle, Percy had appeared to help, back from defending his father’s underwater castle. He’d found Annabeth in all the fighting and they’d lapsed back into old fighting patterns – back to back, water and weapons working together in perfect harmony. This is something practiced through necessity, something that comes as easily to them as breathing, even so many years later. It’s something they’ve never forgotten, maybe something they’ve never wanted forgotten.

They know each other like the back of their hands, their weaknesses and strengths, and they know how to play that so they complement each other perfectly. They’d cleaved through horde after horde of monster and know they’re all dead, and it’s just them left in the middle, panting from exertion.

Annabeth puts away her bow and spins around. Riptide is still held loosely in Percy’s hand, as he scans the surroundings for more. He’s supposed to be invincible, but the Curse of Achilles has been washed away with Zeus’s gift, and despite the fact that gods are infinitely harder to kill, he can still get hurt. He’s not that badly scraped up, but he’s leaking ichor from various cuts on his arms and legs, his hair windswept and dusty.

Ichor, not blood, another vicious reminder of everything he is now.

Annabeth clears her throat, making his eyes snap up to hers. “Thanks, partner,” she says a little awkwardly, and doesn’t realize how close they’re standing until the battle softens and melts from his eyes, revealing something else entirely.

The kiss isn’t something particularly special. It’s just a simple brush of lips against lips, and she goes rigid at the contact.

Percy gives her a small smile, capping his sword and sliding the pen into his pocket, and walks away to join the Hunters searching through rubble for survivors.

* * *

 

At the end, Percy returns to their camp once more to say goodbye. He bows to Thalia and tells her to expect news from Poseidon and Artemis within the week; he hesitates when he sees Annabeth coming towards the two of them, but meets her halfway.

“Annabeth.”

“Percy.”

He gives her a soft smile, wistful and just a little bit sad. “It’s been nice working with you, Annabeth.”

These are words of farewell. She breathes out heavily, and offers him her hand. She watches his expression as they flit through uncertainty, hesitance, incredulity – before he takes it, and his hand is warm and firm. “It’s been nice seeing you again, Percy,” Annabeth whispers, and Thalia’s words resound in her head like echoes that won’t fade.

Percy gives her a blinding grin. “Hopefully I’ll see you around, then,” he says, his voice light and cheerful, and he turns and heads off into the woods.

And it’s over again, all over again. These three hundred and fifty years have kept them apart and now, fourteen months and yet another war later, he’s disappeared again. Annabeth doesn’t know when she’ll see him next. She hopes it’s not another three hundred and fifty years later.

Thalia comes up next to her, hands in her pockets, watching Percy’s retreating back with her. “Are you going to go find Lady Artemis?” Her words are ringing with a finality Annabeth doesn’t think she can accept just yet.

“I’ll stick around and see,” Annabeth says wistfully, and turns to head for target practice with a few of her sisters.

 


End file.
